Male - Late twenties
by hectatess
Summary: Who is the guy the paramedics brought in, found lying on a cemetary, all beaten up. And how did he get well so soon? -set just before the pilot and lapsing into it. Rated M for language. Inspired by an image with the same title, drawn by the marvelous Petite Madamme.
1. Chapter 1

1

Doctor Collins listened to the paramedics as they wheeled in a victim. "Male - late twenties." they said. No name, no other characteristics. "Found in cemetary by golfers from nearby range. Lacerations on scalp, under temple, chest, back, left leg. Collapsed lung, suspected swelling of the brain." Dr. Collins looked at the figure on the ER cot. "Good Lord. You have been through the grinder, havent you son?" The young man on the cot didn't respond. He was unconscious, and the roughly bandaged cut on his scalp oozed blood through the gauze. The doc looked at the paramedic and back again. "Suspected swelling of the brain... Well then son, we will have to see about that." He called in a team of nurses and co-eds and together they patched up the young man as well as they could. They put a drain in his scalp, to get the fluids out and reduce preassure. They re-inflated is left lung, cleaned, stitched and dressed the cuts and after putting on the last band-aid, finally the doctor could wash his hands, knowing that the boy would pull through.

Late night. After an exhausting ER shift, doctor Collins found himself standing at the foot of the hospital bed containing the unknown young male that was found beat up on a cemetary. He was still out, but he had turned to his side and slept with his left hand under his pillow, his right lay open and relaxed next to his handsome face. No smile graced his features, and he looked simply exhausted. "You poor fellow." Doc Collins said softly. "Wonder how you came to be on a cemetary, all beaten up. There was some grave desecrating too. What did you stumble upon?" The doc sighed and ran a hand through his greyish hair. "I hope it's not some kind of gaybashing... You look cute enough." Another big sigh. "We found the ICE number you have in your jacket pocket. I'm sorry to say it goes straight to voicemail. Some emergency back-up, this John." The young man started twitching his nose and the corner of his mouth. Doc Collins felt sorry. He was probably reliving the bashing in his dreams. "S... Sa...Sam... Sàm... Sammy." the young man moaned, his right hand twitching. ' _Poor guy. Probably his boyfriend he's calling out to._ ' the doctor thought, full of pity.

Doc Collins put his hand on the guys shoulder. "It's okay, son. You're okay." Under his hand, the shoulder stiffened and the left hand shoved around under the pillow. Suddenly it fell still and the young man's eyes flew open. Startled, doc Collins looked into those amazingly green eyes, startled mostly by how cold and hard they were. "Where's Sam?" the young man said in a gruff voice, trying to pull the oxygentube out of his nose. "Whoa there pal... Don't do that just yet." Doc Collins said, taking hold of his hand. "You were found on the cemetary, alone, all beaten up. They brought you here, to the hospital. I'm doctor Collins. I'm the one who patched you up, so please, don't undo my hard work." The startled green eyes flicked to and fro. "Hospital? Crap..." He sounded defeated and slumped back down. "You'll be fine son, just a little time and medication. By the way... What's your name?" No answer. Doc Collins bent over, only to find his patient had slipped under again. Straightening the oxygentube and smoothing the sandy hair, the doc came to a decission. He walked to his office, and picked up the phone. "This is John, leave your emergency after the beep." a rough, manly voice boomed out the speaker. "John, this is doctor Collins, at Canton-Potsdam Hospital in Canton, New York. We have a young man here, who was brought in after a severe beating. He has sandy hair and green eyes. He is unconscious right now, and we couldn't find any identification on him. Please call back as soon as possible." Worried, doc Collins put the phone down and went home.


	2. Chapter 2

2

Dean stood in a dark forrest and he heard a werewolf howl. Ice crept through his veins. Dad and Sam were out there, and they didn't have silver bullets. He started running, running, running through the dense undergrowth. He had to find Sam and Dad... He stumbled and looking down he saw the clawed up body of his father. His heart stopped and his brain froze. Dad... Then an aguished cry reached his ears. Sam! His feet were working before his brain was and he pushed on through, panting. "S... Sa...Sam... Sàm... Sammy!" he called, panic rippling through him. Then all of a sudden he felt a hand on his shoulder and a calm voice said: "It's okay, son. You're okay." Dean felt the pillow under his head and he moved his left hand around under it, to find his gun. ' _Shit! No gun... So I'm not in a motel, nor anywhere I'd normally be. Ok then, let's see what we can see._ ' he thought and opened his eyes. Stark, whiteness and a kindly, older guy with a lab coat. ' _Crap..._ ' He would have to play safe. First things first: "Were's Sam?" His throat was dry and raw, and talking hurt like the blazes. Something was itching along his cheekbone and he tried pulling it away. "Whoa there pal... Don't do that just yet." the old man said and took his hand. "You were found in the cemetary, alone..." the guy started explaining. ' _Cemetary. That's right... I had a salt and burn, St. Lawrence university grounds... Stupid ass ghost knocked me around from here to next Tuesday, before I could flick that matchbook in._ ' Dean vaguely noted the bruised feeling all over his left side and the pulling in his scalp, meaning he had stitches. The itchy thing over his cheekbones... Crap, oxygentube... He must have been pretty busted up and that meant... His head started spinning. "Hospital? Crap..." The room started fading to black and Dean slipped under.

It was a few hours after that, when Dean woke up again. ' _Crap. I hope they found Dads number in my pocket... Although, fat lot of good that'll do. He hasn't checked in for weeks, and all I ever got was voicemail. I just wish Sammy was still with us, instead of being a nerdy college dude. This wouldn't have happened then._ ' Still the proud feeling that always filled his chest when he thought of his egghead brother, came and warmed him. ' _If Dad hasn't checked in before I'm released, I'm going to get Sammy. This shit is getting on my nerves._ ' He rolled onto his back, feeling a cut under his left temple throb a bit. The oxygentube shifted a bit and Dean wondered how bad he had been injured. He rolled his eyes back, trying to ignore the lonely feeling. No Dad, no Sam. Dean was all alone. ' _God... I wish I could be out of here a soon as possible, like yesterday._ ' A tear defied Deans best efforts and rolled out the corner of his eye. "Well, that is an impossible request." a cheery voice said. Dean scrambled to get upright. "You're being silly, Dean-o. Stay down." A strong hand gently pushed him back into the mattress. "As much as I would like to give you the world, yesterday is, as they say, out of the cards." Dean looked up to see a guy standing over him. "What the Hell?" Dean managed. The guy was about 5' 8", had slicked back, shoulderlength hair and somehow looked completely out of place. He popped a sucker out of his mouth and grinned.

"Actually, I bat for the other team, although, I'm benched right now. Have been for a while. Was my own choice too. Anywho... I picked up your prayer." Dean was put off by the flow of words. Finally he managed: "I didn't pray. I don't pray, not ever." The guy's eyes twinkled in the blueish light of the ward. "Oho, boy are you wrong! Wasn't an official prayer, I'll grant you that. But you started with "God, I wish..." Good as any prayer to me." Dean smirked. "You're telling me you are an angel? Where's your fluffy wings then, Michael Landon?" The impish grin slid off the guys face. "Look, bucko, I picked up your prayer for several reasons, one being that I like to dick with the medical guys. Give them some 'medical wonders'." He gesticulated with his hands. "Another being that you need to get better and move your butt to Palo Alto a.s.a.p. Something's up there, and it don't feel good. Sambo could be in trouble." Dean felt his heart clench. "Sammy? What do you mean? Is he in danger, right now?" Popping his sucker out again, the guy licked his lips. "See, Dean-o, I'm not sure, but my sources tell me stuff's afoot there. So, when I picked up your little SOS, I thought I could kill two birds with one stone. I kickstart your healing, nothing too notable, and you make sure your big ass brother stays safe. Sounds good to you?" Dean tried to wriggle free, but that short fellow had quite the force behind him. "Yeah... I still don't believe you're an angel, but hey, what the Hell. If I can get out of here sooner, do your hoodo, treetopper."

The guy suddenly came real close. Dean could see the dark rings around his honeycoloured eyes. "Listen, Winchester," he said low, but threateningly. "Show a little respect, will ya? I've skipped ahead a few years, and the world needs you and your sasquatch brother. Otherwise, I wouldn't bother. Now shut up and lay still." He pressed two fingers lightly to Deans head. The place where they touched got very warm and a blueish light shone from his fingers. Dean felt all tingly and comfy for a moment. "There... That should get you out in a day. I took the liberty of parking your car in front of the hospital. Oh, and here..." He threw something on the bed. "...your duffel. Get yourself out of that Dad-awful gown and in your own clothes." Dean sat up, noticing the bruised and battered feeling gone. "Hey, thanks man. You might have made me a believer..." He winked. "What's your name?" The guy grinned around his sucker. "I could tell you, but you wouldn't remember me." Dean huffed. "Try me." Another impish grin. "Change first, then I'll answer. I'll turn around... Oh, and leave the tube in... All kinds of alarms go off, if you pull that off. Don't need the attention, do we?" Dean grumbled, but he gladly did what the angel told him. Feeling more like himself in his dark green t-shirt and boxers, he slipped back under the covers. "Done. So, who are you?" Two steps, and the man was right next to him again. "Gabriel, they call me Gabriel, ok? Now... Naptime!" Gabriel cheerfully announced, and again put his fingers against Deans head. Dean fell back against his pillow and Gabriel arranged him so he looked just as he had before he woke. The only things reminding of Deans injuries, were the oxygentube, the scrape just below his temple and the band-aid and draintube above his ear. Satisfied he had sufficiently wiped Deans memory, Gabriel turned towards the door and said: "See you in a few years, kiddo." After checking that he was alone, Gabriel flew off.


	3. Chapter 3

3

When the doctor arrived the next day, he found Dean awake and sitting up. "Young man! You should be lying down!" Doc Collins called. Dean grinned at him. "I feel peachy, doc." The doctor huffed. "Well, we'll see about that. You do look better. I will check you out later, but for now, tell me your name. That will be much easier for both of us." Dean smirked. "Hector, Hector Afframian. Here." He threw a wallet on the covers. "Medical insurance card, creditcard, all in there." Doctor Collins frowned. "How did you get that?" He looked his patient over. "And how the heck did you get clothes? I had to cut off your shirt to inflate your lung..." Dean looked down. "Ehm... I don't know, doc, honestly. I woke up in this. My duffel and jacket were on the chair right there, where they are now." The doc looked around at the chair. "Hm." he huffed. "Well, maybe you got an early visitor, and you forgot it. With the headtrauma you have had, I wouldn't be surprised if your shortterm memory is a bit wonky. And talking about that, let me see." He pulled out a tongue depresser and checked Deans throat. "Hm. Odd. No sign of redness..." He switched the depresser for one of those tiny flashlights and flicked it from one of Deans eyes to the other. "Pupil reflexes fine, nothing off there..." His hands quickly and professionally checked the drain. "No discharge... Pull up that shirt, Hector, I want to check the other drain. The one in your lung." Dean obliged, thinking ' _Inflated lung, drains in my head and lung... Yikes._ ' The doctor gently pushed and probed around the lung drain. "Amazing! No discharge either. You are one fast healer, mr. Afframian. Well, in the light of your super fast recovery, I think we could turn you loose after setteling the administrative mumbo jumbo." Dean grinned like the Chesshire cat. "That'd be great, doc!"

"Now, Hector, what happened out there on that cemetary? Did you catch some grave desecrators or something? Was it a gaybashing?" Dean blinked his big green eyes. "Gaybashing? Hell, no doc. Why would you say that?" The doctor smiled ruefully. "Because you were moaning out 'Sam, Sammy' in your sleep, and the first words out of your mouth were 'Where's Sam?', so I assumed that was your boyfriend." Seeing Deans look of utter disgust, he smirked. "I guess I was wrong." Dean huffed. "Way off there, doc. Sam is my little brother. I dreamt he was getting hurt, so..." The doc nodded. "Ok. What happend then?" Dean sighed, glad the bruised and battered feeling was gone, as was the oxygentube. "I was walking to my motel, when I heard something on the cemetary. Now I'm a firm believer of resting in peace, so I went to check it out. Turns out people who dig up graves don't like it when you call them sick perverts." He looked the doc straight in his eyes. "Would you believe they had built a fire in the grave, doc?" Doc Collins pulled a face and nodded. "I heard. Terrible way to behave... Did you see any faces?" Dean shook his head. "Sorry doc.. Can't say I did. The fire behind them helped them stay unknown." Putting his pen away, the doctor sighed. "Oh well... I'm glad you pulled through the way you did, Hector. Oh, by the way, this John fellow you put up as ICE... You might want to reconsider him. He never picked up, or even returned our calls." Deans face fell. "Thanks, doc. I'll talk to him." The doc patted Deans knee. "Well, son. You take care now, and don't stray into any more cemetaries." Dean smirked. "Alright doc. Hope to never see you again." He winked at the doc, who left, shaking his grey head.

Dean pushed his hands into his pockets, feeling Baby's keys against his knuckles. ' _Awe shit. I'll have to go get her._ ' He sighed and pushed the door out of the hospital. "What the..." There, gleaming in the autumn sun, stood his Baby. He ran out and, unbelieving, touched her roof. "How did you get here, Baby?" Hope filled his chest. ' _Maybe Dad has been here, dropped off my duffel and Baby, before he left again. I'll check my voicemail._ ' He quickly took out his phone and dialed the number. "You have no new messages." the mechanical, female voice told him coldly. With a sigh, Dean snapped his phone shut and thrust it back in his pocket. ' _Damn it, Dad... Where are you?_ ' A tight ball of worry settled in his stomach. ' _You know what, screw this! I'm going to get Sammy. It'll be a few days driving to Palo Alto anyways. If Dad decides to check in, I can always just see if Sam is doing alright there. Geez, I miss that big galoot_.' He slid into the car and turned on the ignition.


	4. Chapter 4

4

Throwing his room key and Baby's keys in the key dish, Dean checked his motelroom for the night. Nothing too shabby. A nice semi-Mexican theme, with cacti and lizards and stuff. ' _Thanks Afframian._ ' He sighed when he felt his phone vibrate. "You have one new message. Message made today at two seventeen am." Dean felt the ball of worry churn... If it was Dad and he was in trouble, he'd be off right away, but he was pretty tired. The beating that ghost had delivered, was still effecting him. "Dean..." It was Dad! He sounded okay, but the static was bad. Dean concentrated on his fathers voice. It said he had to bail his hunt? The static was getting annoying. Dean played the message again. Wait... That wasn't static... He pulled out his old, busted up taperecorder and clicked the record button. This just got serious. A few hours later, Dean dropped onto his bed, fully clothed. He'd get Sam after a few hours of sleep. He couldn't do this alone anymore. He didn't want to do this alone.

Dean arrived in Palo Alto early at night and drove right up to Sam's place. Nerves raced through his body and hands played with his phone. ' _He won't pick up if I call, but I can't just waltz up there and say "Hiya Sammy! Mind if I come on in?" He'll throw the door in my face. Damn your stubborn streak, Sam._ ' He pulled his hand through his hair and sighed. What to do, what to do... His eyes caught movement at one of the windows. The string of a pull-down curtain swayed softly in the breeze. That meant an open window... An open window meant Dean could climb in, search out where his baby bro was sleeping and... Sammy couldn't throw him out once he was in... Yeah, that would do nicely. Grinning in the darkness, Dean pocketed his phone. Just a swift pull up and scaffolding climb later, he eased himself through the open window. ' _Sweet. Now to find my baby brother. See if all the studying has made him soft._ ' Dean pushed open a door, unconcerned when it squeaked. The creaking floorboards should have woken Sam up by now, and Dean was really trying to see if his brother had gotten sloppy, or if he'd kept his instincts of 'fight first, ask questions later.' He'd taken five steps into the next room, when the weight of his brother hit him. Even as he reacted on instinct, Dean felt proud of Sam. He hadn't heard him coming. A lovely little scuffle later, Dean saw his chance and floored the 6' 4" guy. "Whoah, easy tiger." he said, chuckling. "Dean?!" The amazement in Sams voice hurt a bit, but good lord was it great to see that goofy face again! "You scared the crap outta me!" Dean couldn't resist. "That's because you're out of practice." Sam swung his legs up and flipped them swiftly. "Or not." he panted and Sam patted his shoulder. "Get off me." Dean said.

Once they were both up, Sam accusingly said: "Dean, what the Hell are you doing here?" Dean wasn't going there, not off the bat like that. "Well, I was looking for a beer..." he said, giving his brother a swift once over and a shake. Sam dropped his voice about an octave and Dean could tell he wouldn't take any more crap. "What the Hell are you doing here." It wasn't a question anymore, it was a demand for an answer. "Okay, alright... We gotta talk." Dean said swiftly. He still didn't want to start off by saying he needed his brothers help to find their Dad. "Ah... The phone?" Internally, Dean huffed. ' _Yeah right. The phone..._ ' Seriousness taking over, Dean answered. "If I'd have called, would you have picked up?" Sams abashed silence told him everything, and it freaking hurt. He wanted to grab him, shake him, yell at him that he needed him. The dry click of the lightswitch and the sudden glow of the lamp diffused that urge, as did the appearance of Sams girlfriend, saying "Sam?" When Sam decided to pair with her, saying that he could tell anything to her too, Dean was actually kinda pissed. So that's how it was now, huh? Treading lightly, he chose his words carefully. "Dad's on a hùnting trip and he hasn't been home in a few days." He saw the words hitting home as Sam squared his shoulders infinitessimally and he excused them with Jess. ' _So, not quite anything, huh Sammy?_ ' Dean thought as he walked out the front door.


	5. Chapter 5

5

Watching his baby brother turn away and walk back to his applepie life with Jess, made Dean angry and yet sad. He had hoped Sam would want to stay with him and hunt until they found Dad at least. He gunned the gas and drove off. All of a sudden there was a guy sitting in the passengerseat. "Really, Dean-o? What part of 'keep your brother safe' wasn't clear? Something is still off."

 _Sam was tired, but happy to be home. He called out for Jess, but no answer._

Dean swerved into the wrong lane and hurridly steered his Baby back. "Holy SHIT! Who the Hell are you, mister? No scratch that. What the Hell are you?!" The guy smiled mischeivously, and the corners of his golden eyes crinkled. "HAH! Told you you wouldn't remember!" he scoffed and slapped his knee. Dean winced when the hand holding a soppy sucker, missed the dash by less than an inch. "What? I've never seen you in my life!" The golden eyes got serious. "No time for that, Dean. Samsquatch is home, but not safe. I'd get back there if I were you..."

 _Sam saw the plate of freshly baked cookies and smiled at the note. Taking a cookie, he wandered off, completely at ease. Dean was gone again, and if Dad was found, he'd hear about it. All he had to worry about was the interview._

"What do you mean not safe?" Dean demanded, but he made the U-turn regardless. "Not sure, bucko, but something just doesn't feel right." Dean fumbled with his left hand at the cap of the flask in his back pocket. "Now why don't you stop com..." The man fell silent as the Holy Water hit him. His face scrunged up and he blinked. Blowing the droplets off his lips, he gave Dean a face that radiated 'seriously?' "Not a demon, you know. Still batting for the other team... kinda. UGH." He wiped his face and shook his head, the shoulderlength hair whipping around. "See, kiddo. I'm not trying to kill you, but your baby brother might get killed if you don't shut up and drive faster." Dean glared at him, but gunned the Impala anyway.

 _With a content smile on his face, Sam dropped down on his bed relishing the aftertaste of the excellent chocolate chip cookie. A happy sigh escaped him, then he felt something wet and sticky drip on his forehead, and again..._

Breaks screaching, Dean pulled up to the curb in front of Sam's appartement building. He turned to the guy with the golden eyes and snarled at him. "Now tell me what the Hell is going on, or I'll..." The man didn't respond. Hell, he didn't even listen. He was looking up at a window on the second floor. That was where Sam lived... Dean followed his gaze and was suddenly anxious. That asshat was right. Something felt wrong. His hands flew to the seatbelt buckle, but the stranger had his hand in front of his face, two fingers extended. "Now listen to me, you arrogant dick... You go get Sam out of there, no matter what. Don't bother with anything but him. Not his lady, not me. Hell, you wont remember me in a second, but still... now, GO!" He swiftly pressed the fingers against Dean's head.

Dean shook his head. It was suddenly reeling. ' _Whoa! Did I just dream all of that? No, it was real. The woman in white, dropping Sammy off. But why can I remember pulling away?_ ' When he got his bearings back, he saw an orange glow intensifying behind the window of Sam's place. He jumped out of the car and ran inside as fast as he could. The frontdoor was soon kicked in. "Sam! SAMMY!" he bellowed, as he ran through the place, hoping he'd be in time.


	6. Chapter 6

6

On the street, Gabriel sighed heavily and popped his sucker out of his mouth. A snap of his fingers, and he was holding a cell phone. From the speaker a woman's voice sounded. "911, what's your emergency?" After one last glance up, Gabriel answered: "I'd like to report a fire in Palo Alto..."

When Dean dragged out a defeated Sam, there was quite the crowd. Coughing and wheezing, Sam crying silently, the boys made it to the Impala. They didn't notice the 5'8" guy with slicked back, shoulderlength hair and golden eyes, who eyed them with his mouth pulled down bitterly. "So, it begins..." he muttered as he watched Sam slam down the trunk hood with a vengeful glare. "Vær Trygg, boys... Stay safe." He snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Dean drove, and the radio played softly. Hells Bells, by AC/DC. He drummed his fingers on the wheel, occasionally glancing at his brother. He'd said nothing since he'd slammed that trunk shut, and Dean worried a bit. "Sam? Are you going to be ok?" Asking if he was ok was stupid. No-one is ok after that. Hell, even Dean had a new nightmare to add to his list. Seeing Jess like that... he'd suddenly realised how Mom would have looked... and how Dad must have felt... horrified! Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah... maybe." he answered, his voice husky from smoke inhalation. Dean patted his knee. "You will be, brother... I'm here." Sam finally turned his head to look at him. "Thanks, De." Dean smiled at him. "Anytime." Exhausted, Sam scrunged up his face and suddenly Dean felt a weird 'Deja-vu' kind of feeling. It broke when Sam opened his eyes. "What?" he asked. "Why are you staring at me?" Dean shook his head. "Nothing... I was kinda expecting your eyes to be golden, like sunshine through a glass of whiskey." Sam huffed. "That's oddly specific... and kinda weird." Dean smiled an uneasy, half smile. "Yeah."

In the hall of a college, states over, a janitor was mopping the floors, humming the same sentence over and over. "It's the end of the world as we know it..." He only stopped to take a big bite out of his candybar.

 **the End...**


End file.
